’Oh yes, mamma, he did.  I made him.  It was I—­blame me.’She knelt down by her mother’s side, and caught her hand—­she would not let it go, though Mrs. Hale tried to pull it away.  She kept kissing it, and the hot tears she shed bathed it.

’Margaret, it was very wrong of you.  You knew I did not wish you to know.’  But, as if tired with the contest, she left her hand in Margaret’s clasp, and by-and-by she returned the pressure faintly.  That encouraged Margaret to speak.

’Oh, mamma! let me be your nurse.  I will learn anything Dixon can teach me.  But you know I am your child, and I do think I have a right to do everything for you.’

‘You don’t know what you are asking,’ said Mrs. Hale, with a shudder.

’Yes, I do.  I know a great deal more than you are aware of Let me be your nurse.  Let me try, at any rate.  No one has ever shall ever try so hard as I will do.  It will be such a comfort, mamma.’

’My poor child!  Well, you shall try.  Do you know, Margaret, Dixon and I thought you would quite shrink from me if you knew—­’

‘Dixon thought!’ said Margaret, her lip curling.  ’Dixon could not give me credit for enough true love—­for as much as herself!  She thought, I suppose, that I was one of those poor sickly women who like to lie on rose leaves, and be fanned all day; Don’t let Dixon’s fancies come any more between you and me, mamma.  Don’t, please!’ implored she.

‘Don’t be angry with Dixon,’ said Mrs. Hale, anxiously.  Margaret recovered herself.

’No!  I won’t.  I will try and be humble, and learn her ways, if you will only let me do all I can for you.  Let me be in the first place, mother—­I am greedy of that.  I used to fancy you would forget me while I was away at aunt Shaw’s, and cry myself to sleep at nights with that notion in my head.’

’And I used to think, how will Margaret bear our makeshift poverty after the thorough comfort and luxury in Harley Street, till I have many a time been more ashamed of your seeing our contrivances at Helstone than of any stranger finding them out.’

’Oh, mamma! and I did so enjoy them.  They were so much more amusing than all the jog-trot Harley Street ways.  The wardrobe shelf with handles, that served as a supper-tray on grand occasions!  And the old tea-chests stuffed and covered for ottomans!  I think what you call the makeshift contrivances at dear Helstone were a charming part of the life there.’

‘I shall never see Helstone again, Margaret,’ said Mrs. Hale, the tears welling up into her eyes.  Margaret could not reply.  Mrs. Hale went on.  ’While I was there, I was for ever wanting to leave it.  Every place seemed pleasanter.  And now I shall die far away from it.  I am rightly punished.’

‘You must not talk so,’ said Margaret, impatiently.  ’He said you might live for years.  Oh, mother! we will have you back at Helstone yet.’

’No never!  That I must take as a just penance.  But, Margaret—­Frederick!’ At the mention of that one word, she suddenly cried out loud, as in some sharp agony.  It seemed as if the thought of him upset all her composure, destroyed the calm, overcame the exhaustion.  Wild passionate cry succeeded to cry—­’Frederick!  Frederick!  Come to me.  I am dying.  Little first-born child, come to me once again!’